


Lich Boyfriend Zaxaur

by Aelia_D



Category: Original Work
Genre: Established Relationship, Exophilia, F/M, Het, Lich/Reader, Male Monster/Female Reader, Massage, Reader Insert, Romance, bad day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 05:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16848421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aelia_D/pseuds/Aelia_D
Summary: Your lich boyfriend has had a very bad day. You give him a massage to help him relax.





	Lich Boyfriend Zaxaur

**Author's Note:**

> This one was a prize for a tumblr follower and was really fun to write.

You’re in the kitchen working on dinner when you hear the key in the front door. You peek your head around the corner, and identify your partner through the frosted glass of the front door, so you go back to cooking. You just need another minute or two to get everything in the oven.

“Today was awful,” Zaxaur says as he gets into the foyer. He drops his bag with a thump and you track the sound of his shuffling through the hallway into the living room. He collapses onto the couch with an audible thud.

You shove the casserole into the oven, and head into the living room to check on him. He’s kicked off his shoes, but is otherwise fully dressed, his overcoat still on top of his scrubs, his scarf still wrapped around his neck. It really must have been bad if he hasn’t even shed those yet.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask, perching on the very edge of the couch and running your hand along the back of his coat, pressing hard enough that he can feel your presence even through the fabric.

“No.” His response is muffled in the pillows, but you catch it anyway.

“Alright, well, you’re going to have to sit up long enough to get out of your coat and things at least, so come on, babe.” You shift so you’re sitting on the edge of the coffee table– a sturdy old piece that can support you both– and as soon as he’s sitting up enough that you can help, you dive in and begin undressing your partner.

First you slide the hat off his head, revealing his bald skull. Then you unwind the scarf from around his face. You’d knitted this for him last winter, and he now wore it whenever the temperature dropped enough to justify it. His eyes are glowing a dull green at you from within the sockets, and there’s enough connective tissue left on his body to allow him to frown at you as you work your way to his coat, undoing buttons.

“I’m not a child,” he grumbles in protest, but it’s nothing more than a token, as he doesn’t begin to assist.

“I know,” you say, pressing a kiss to his mouth. “But I like to take care of you.”

“Thank you,” he says, finally helping as you begin shoving the jacket down his shoulders. You go to hang it up, and when you come back, he’s face-planted in the couch again.

You straddle his hips carefully, and run your hand along his back, feeling the bumps of his vertebrae under your hand. He sighs under your touch, so you continue, running your hands over his body, feeling the bones and remaining connective tissue, but no muscle. It’s gone, after centuries as a lich, but the memories and aches of it remain, and on days like this, sometimes stroking him as though you’re massaging him can help.

“Hang on,” he says, and the two of you shift enough that he can pull his scrub top off over his head, so he’s bared to his hips below you. He settles back down, his arms pillowing his cheek.

You run your hands over his back, feeling the smooth texture of his remaining tissues and the slightly rough catch of his bone against your skin. He seems to be melting into the cushions, relaxing under your touch. The texture of his body was the strangest thing to get used to, but it’s familiar now. You know the way his bones feel, smooth but not, and the way his magic feels as it crackles under the surface of his body. You drag your nails against the tendons left on his shoulders, and he groans.

“How was your day?” He manages to ask as he continues to melt into the couch.

“Better than yours,” you say with a laugh, your fingers finding one of his favorite spots near the base of his neck, where the vertebrae tend to carry more of his tension. You can almost feel the magic sparking there, and you massage the area like you would a person with a regular body, soothing the area, untangling the knot, smoothing the magic back out. “I finished cutting the pieces for a window– the commissioned one for Mrs Jones’ bathroom remodel– and it should be ready for install next week.”

“Is that the one with the koi design?” He asks. His voice has gone soft and sleepy.

“Yeah. I love it.” You’re working your way back down his spine, your fingers teasing outward along his rib cage, your palms kneading as though against flesh that is long gone. His bones are rough against your hands, but it’s such a familiar sensation now that it’s comforting. “I want to make another like it for us.”

“Alright,” he says. “If that’d make you happy.”

“Would you really be okay if I replaced the bathroom window with stained glass?” You ask him.

“Yeah, as long as you’re happy, I’m happy,” he says.

You shift, stretching out so you’re laying on top of him, your body draped over his. He should be uncomfortable, all jagged joints and bone, but he’s not. Something about the magic that holds him together and keeps him in his state of undeath also makes this comfortable. You listen to his magically-augmented heart beating within his chest.

Zaxaur uses his magic to lift you off him, and rolls on the couch before re-settling you against him. He wraps his arms around you, and holds you close. For several minutes, there’s just silence as you listen to his heart beating, and he settles into the comfort of home.

“One of the bodies that came through the lab today was another lich’s mate.” He says, his arms tightening around you. His job as a coroner is usually pretty simple; he’s been undead for centuries, and he’s had time to master the skills associated with it. Whether the death is magical or mundane, he can decode it in no time. It’s rare for it to shake him like this.

You know this fear. As a lich, Zaxaur is going to remain undead until the magic sustaining him runs out, but your human lifespan is your limit. Your 80 to 100 years compared to his centuries seems like nothing, and it scares him to think of losing you, but he loves your humanity, too.

You move so you can kiss him and remind him that you are very much here and alive. Your lips tease his mouth, and in an instant his tongue is tangling with yours. His hand cups the back of your head, his fingers twining in your hair, pulling you close as he lays claim.

He is nibbling at the corner of your mouth when the timer for the casserole goes off.

You lift yourself away from him reluctantly, after one final kiss to the space where his nose once was.

“Come on, let’s go eat. We can continue this later,” you say.

He grins at you.

“I look forward to it.”


End file.
